Alastair.
The stronghold by the mountain river was a fortress carved from purpose. Stone walls rose from the cliff's edge like a challenge to the gods, thick and mortared with quartz and silver flecks that caught the light. The entire structure was built in layers: outer walls patrolled by archers, mid-tier watchtowers linked by wooden walkways, and the heart of it—a citadel wrapped around the river's edge where the water plunged down in a roaring curtain. The falls were the source of this stronghold's name—Stonewater Keep—and the key to the defence of the realm. The source of the water that will flow through our hidden irrigation system.
I strode through the lower level, where the piping we'd retrofitted ran like veins through the walls. The air was cool with mist, and the scent of wet stone clung to everything. Dozens of pipes jutted from the floor and ceiling—unfinished, raw—but they would work in a pinch. Not perfect, but ready enough.
